Know Your Enemy
by GrlCalledLauren
Summary: Rally up the demons of your soul


A/N:So this one of the ones on my livejournal (ModernDayWendla) I decided to add to the collection on here.

Discalimer: I don't own anything blah. blah. blah

* * *

The minute she stepped off the bus her life seemed to change. She was tired from an excruciating bus ride, was in one of the worst moods possible, and could definitely use a cup or five of coffee. Her hair was a mess, her neck had a crick, and her bags had went from light to impossible…but the minute her eyes ran the perimeter- over tall tips spires, crawling up the windows, up, up, up- into the sky she found herself breaking into a goofy grin. She was here. She was in New York.

His eyes scanned the party go-ers, aimlessly dancing and grinding to the music, swallowed whole in the smoke and the lights- their minds gone. Lives gone, making them zombies running from day to day on their next fix. He took a long drag, his cheek bones hollowing inward to inhale the sweet savor of the drug, his eyes running over each and every little sheep in his herd; but there was something different…among the ruff seemed to be a coal diamond, a fresh blood- but more importantly, a new hit. A new spirit he was just itching to break.

_Poor unfortunate soul. Clueless bitch._

What was it about New York that drew in the wasted youth of America, _like_ _moths to a fucking flame_? What about it made these stupid fucking kids think that they could honestly achieve some impossible dream just by taking in the city and breathing the exhaust fumes- _like some fucking Disney movie._ Did they honestly believe they could make it on a couple of bucks, and a bus ticket? Were they really so naïve as to believe the big bad world would cradle them in the city and give them life on a platter. Like one stupid bus ride out of their personal hell could propel them onward to heaven. And what were they running from? So comfortable suburban life with a sports car, picket fence, and dog named spot?

Yeah that seems like a _real drag._

Whatever hell these kids thought they knew, he'd make sure they lived it. The city wasn't the new 'safe haven'. It wasn't heaven on earth, it was the ultimate hell. The center of temptation, and sin where once the embers licked your body, had a taste of your skin, you'd get dragged into the fire.

_And you'd never come out whole again._

Didn't they know that soon they'd add to the numbers? That the minute they stepped off of whatever bus that they came from they stopped being people, and became an endless crowd of masses? That bus was no better than trip down death row; because once you descended those rubber steps- once your feet touched the pavement you had no name. You were just a face. _Another pretty young thing. _ Because one by one they'd crash and burn and they fall hard, little new bird wings busted on pavement, bird bones sticking out at awkward angles as they tried to soak up the blood. Why?

_Because they met him._

He was the king of New York, the patron saint of the people _and denial._ He had an angelic face and a never ending taste for destruction, corruption _internal suicide._ He'd seen it time and time again, fresh faces- so wide-eyed and eager full of hope- oh, yeah they'd fly high for the first time, grasping at diamonds in they sky with reaching baby finger tips- and then they'd were his. That was all it took to take these, angels and send them plummeting one by one wrapping his black talons into them and bring them down with him, _straight into hell._

She was no different.

He'd seen her at the party, picked her out of the crowd of the nameless zombies- innocent, fresh- she may not have known it yet; but she was going to be his just like every one else she was another piece to the collection. He stepped away from the bar, sauntering past crowds of the wannabes, groveling at his feet, licking his boots, dying for what only he could give them. He ignored them, keeping his path a straight line. "You're new" He stated looking her over, a hint of suggestion in his voice, watching, as her timid cat like eyes stared him down.

And that was all it took.

The night ended as he took her back to his apartment, his face grabbing hers in a passion play, clothed bodies rubbing against one another _Like fucking animals in heat. _His hands ripping at fabric and grabbing at skin, his own hips involuntarily bucking hers- letting her be the whore she really was- gasping and moaning like a fucking virgin.

And it was different; because normally he'd have been bored by now, denying her any pleasure and making her beg. Normally he'd have given her the score and kicked her out to see what was on t.v.; but there something about this girl- the messy lioness mane she wore, her dark cat eyes, vast and wondering…the way she drug her nails down his back making neat little red lines, actually causing him to moan. Actually causing him to want her. He had to have her, he had to fuck her so hard she wouldn't be able to see straight- leave an impression. Had be inside of her. Inside side of her body, her subconscious, her head- _her heart._

He lured her in playing along and calling her that silly little nickname she insisted upon, like a child trying to play with the big kids. 'Whatsername' the only thing she'd respond to, letting his hand snag in those damn curls, running again and again over that fuchsia streak. Kissing her- bruising kissing, biting painful marks, gripping her hips-Fingers toying with the waistband of her underwear, fingers dipping before that had to go- the article being nearly ripped off in the process.

And he was fucking sober.

Because there was no way he was going to miss seeing her writhe underneath him, body on display like a fucking Thanksgiving feast. Or hearing her whimpers crescendo into piercing screams, watch her throw her head back and close her eyes in pleasure- it was all intoxicating enough.

When the headboard had ceased to shake- they actually lay there with her. He didn't leave, or take a drag, and thank God she didn't fucking cry like some of the new ones. He held her stroking her hair- but not like lovers do. After all, he was who he was. He let fingers run everywhere along her skin exploring the new territory making mental maps, still stroking the most sensitive parts earning small whimpers, like tremors after the earth quake. He held her close like a child holds their new favorite toy.

But maybe something different was starting to form; something new bubbling up inside of him because in the morning he still didn't leave. Maybe without him even knowing this little minx had somehow wedged her way into his unlovable heart of darkness- and she was holding on to it like a hand grenade.

And maybe he didn't mind, so much, the consequences. Maybe he'd ride out the battle and wait for the explosion.

_So Let the carnage fly._

_

* * *

A/N hope you liked it :)_


End file.
